The Darkness
by ink-wells
Summary: The war ended, leaving Harry dead and Hermione heartbroken. Wanting to seek revenge and wreck havoc, Hermione travels back in time to kill the most dangerous, elusive and villainous wizard ever. And to do this, she will have to stoop to extreme levels...
1. Prologue

**prologue**

Hermione couldn't believe she was thumbing furiously through _Secrets of the Dark Arts _whilst Ron was nearly risking his life in retrieving a Basilisk's fang from within the chamber. Harry's words were still ringing within her mind. _I'm going into the forest...Be sure to destroy all the horcruxes....I'm relying on you..._

So Harry was planning to be martyr and die, huh? Well, she'd show him. Harry was going to get through this even if she had to drag him, kicking and screaming through the forests herself.

_Glenda Rowenall.....Admitted to St Mungo's on August 13th 1942, due to being placed under the cruciatus curse and being driven to the brink of insanity. Notes: Was a fifth year Gryffindor at time of admittance. Parents gave permission for her to die peacefully a year later._

Hermione all but growled at the uselessness of the information. There had to be _something _within this book beneficial to their fight against Lord Voldemort.

"I've got it!" Ron emerged triumphant, through the crevice in the rock barrier blocking the tunnel, holding a sac high above his head. Hermione slammed the book close, and tucked it under her elbow. Her frowning face morphing into a smile when her beloved best friend scrambled to join her.

"Oh Ron, I love you!" She cried, tip-toeing up to plant a kiss on his reddening cheek. Instead of scrubbing it raw with his sleeve, Ron looked rather flattered to the verge of embarassed. But it didn't stop him from leaning down and planting a desperate hot kiss against her mouth.

"Love you too, 'Mione" he whispered, holding her waist loosely in his hands. Ron would've continued gazing at her; if Hermione hadn't broke free and tugged at his hand.

"Ron, we have to go get Harry," she urged, leading him towards the two broomsticks they had discarded by the tunnel leading to the girls' bathroom earlier.

Ron could do nothing more than nod.

* * *

By the time Hermione and Ron had rushed to the front entrance hall and beyond; Hagrid had already begun his trek with Harry prone in his arms.

Hermione couldn't believe her eyes--surely--_no! _Harry couldn't be dead! Not her best friend of seven years...But the sombre faces of the people who had not fallen before the Deatheaters, and the gleeful smirks upon the deatheaters themselves was enough to confirm her suspicion.

"HARRY! NO!" She burst through the thicket, people automatically stepping aside as she rushed to the front of the defeated crowd, watching as Harry's body, dwarfed by Hagrid's own, bobbed up and down as if it had no mind of it's own. She could already hear the first sounds of weeping sweep the crowd behind her and Hermione herself had to bite back her tears.

Ron, as if sensing the deterioating state of Hermione's mind, reached out to grab her as she made a move to charge the Victory Party. He could sense the agony within, and wouldn't have minded sending a few well-aimed hexes himself, but knew if Hermione ran out from the crowd, then she was running to death itself.

"No Hermione!" He hissed, restraining her back with firm hands. " He'll kill you! Remember Harry's words! If we destroy all the horcruxes and then kill You-Know-who, Harry's death won't be in vain! No- _Listen to me!"_

Hermione was beyond listening as she bucked furiously against her restrainer. All that was coherent in her frothing mind was _revenge. _Even if it resulted in her death or not.

"Let me go!" she howled, brown hair whipping against her face as she whiplashed her head into Ron's nose. That was all it took. Ron abruptly let her go, to clutch at his bloodied nose and grimace in pain. When Hermione immediately didn't try to make a run for it, he breathed a sigh of relief. Instead the queaziness returned as he doubled over and his stomach revolted against him.

"Hermione.." he gasped.

Hermione was already reaching for the vial strapped to her waist that had been ominously hanging there for the past few months. Confused, Ron watched as Hermione swirled the murky grey contents before uncorking the vial with a _pop_.

"Hermione, what are you doing?!"

She didn't answer, instead bringing the vial to her nose and sniffing the contents with a determined expression. Ron's alarm began to multiply as Hermione brought the vial abruptly to her lips and swallowed the entire contents in one mouthful.

For a second, nothing hapenned and Hermione began to look angry, the desperate hope that had flickered in her eyes extinguishing rapidly.

But then there was a _bang- _and the love of his life, the most exasperating girl he had ever met, disappeared before his very eyes into nothingness.

* * *

A/N : Pls RnR


	2. Chapter one

**chapter one**

"Glenda!"

The screech was enough to make Hermione shudder in her sleep and attempt to hide her head under her arm. A moment later Hermione's arm was batted away with scalons as something warm invaded her personal space. "The Fin Salos spell requires rapid wand movement anti-clockwise before a short abrupt flick-" she murmured sleepily.

Hermione shook herself awake to find a bemused girl clutching onto her arm with pointy fingernails that she had mistaken to be scalons. "Who are you?" she asked rudely.

"It's me...Freida? Don't you remember me?" If possible, the girl looked even more worried, her quartz eyes flitting over Hermione's mesmerising every sordid detail. When Hermione continued to look blank, Frieda hesitantly put in, "We're on the Hogwarts Express, Glenda. You remember Hogwarts, don't you? Gryffindor ring any bells?"

Hogwarts Express? How was that even possible? Frieda continued to tug her golden locks of hair anxiously as she knelt by Hermione's legs.

"My name is Glenda?"

She hadn't meant to make it sound like a question. But Hermione couldn't help but feel incredibly confused. The last thing she could remember before waking up _here, _was Ron's pleading face as she chugged down the potion that will surely be the answer to all her problems. But something had clearly gone wrong. The name Glenda seemed vaguely familiar too...as if she'd passed it a fleeting glance through one of her many books...but for the life of her, she couldn't place the damn name!

"Yes." If Freida could have looked any more scared, she would have done. She made a move to extract herself from Hermione's personal bubble but two firm hands clutching her back, stopped her.

"Freida! I've missed you so much!" Although Hermione's face was currently buried in Freida's shoulder, she couldn't quench the panic welling within her. Clearly "Glenda" was well-acquainted with Freida and although she had no _idea _whom she was currently hugging the spirit out of, Hermione was smart enough to follow her instincts. And currently they were screaming to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary.

When she had swallowed the potion, she had tried her damn hardest to direct her thoughts towards Lord's Voldemort's orphanage in the 40's. But somehow her emotions had got ahead, and for a split second the flash of her in Hogwarts Express with Ron and Harry, trying to see how many chocolate frogs they could swallow in a minute entered her mind. Of course, Hermione hadn't participated in such a beastly task-- but she could still remember the joy enveloping her when Ron, well practised in competing other people for food, managed to swallow ten to Harry's meagre three.

Hermione cursed herself as she still clung fiercely to Freida, not knowing even if she was a fellow Gryffindor or not. The damn potion. It must have decided the Hogwarts Express was a more important location to bring Hermione to then Riddle's orphanage. Why had she let herself feel so happy? Even if it was for a blink second.

"- thank god, you're back Glenda. I heard about the attack. You poor thing! I was seriously worried you wouldn't be back for sixth year-"

Freida still seemed convinced that Hermione was Glenda. Her instinct told her to continue pretending her persona until more answers came to light. And that meant having to bluff it out-

Even if it meant she knew _nothing _about the attack she "apparently" faced sometime ago.

The first thing Hermione felt like doing was burst into tears. For real this time. But seeing as Hermione had never considered herself a good liar, and since the idea of making up a lie on the spot was making bright blue lights dance in front of her eyes, Hermione thought declaring she was too emotional to talk was her best option.

"If it's alright, I don't really want to talk about it." Hermione said, trying to blink back her watery tears. Freida's anxious face immediately morphed into horror, as she pulled back from Hermione's death-grip.

"Of-of- course-" she stuttered, looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Hermione turned her head to the window, and pressed her face against it. Oh god. This was such a mess. She was meant to have been killing the young Lord Voldemort in his bed now! It seemed like she had overshot her stopping place and ended up on a train to Hogwarts before Tom Riddle even graced the infamous castle.

What year was this? 1935?

"Freida? Do you have today's Daily Prophet on you?"

Freida who had been openly staring at Hermione in part-wonder, part-concern immediately shot up from her seat and made herself busy by searching for the elusive publication.

"Here you are!" Freida finally trilled as she pushed a newspaper into Hermione's hands and settled herself opposite her long-lost friend. "You'd better read that quick though. The prophet's been banned from Hogwarts this year because it's been following Grindewald's conquests in minute detail, and I think Dippet doesn't want us to be influenced by bad things." She gave a shrieking laugh that made Hermione wince in pain. "Imagine that! Someone actually _supporting _Grindewald!" Another bout of hysterical laughter followed as Freida clutched at her stomach.

"Yes...Imagine that..." Hermione's voice was distracted, as her mind churned million miles per hour. It was such a shame she had swallowed all that time-travelling potion in one go. How old was Lord Voldemort in 1935? Five? Six? She had to get off this train immediately!

Both girls were so absorbed in their own little worlds, that neither didn't notice when the compartment door began to slide open quietly. Hermione continued staring blindly at the Prophet, not having read one word since she'd recieved it and Freida continued giggling away uncontrollably. Hermione began to suspect that perhaps Freida was trying to hide the fear no doubt plucking away at her with some humor. Hermione herself couldn't be bothered to be feeling scared of the _first _dark lord. The one in her present time was so much worse, that Grindewald positively paled in comparision. Anhyhow, Dumbledore was sure to stop Grindewald in his tracks anyday soon.

Hermione's heart panged again when she thought of Dumbledore. How could she have not thought of it before? Dumbledore was around in 1935! She could go to him and ask for help! Somehow the idea of seeing a familiar face brightened Hermione's mood, as she blindly flicked another page, in the pretense of reading it.

Freida, on the otherhand, continued rambling. " Who could ever support that buffoon? _Grindewald! Grindewald! Has a spotty tongue and bad breath! Grindewald! Grindewald! Eats cows livers and-"_

Freida was abruptly stopped in the middle of her mocking rhyme by a deadly whisper.

"Yes?"


	3. Chapter two

**chapter two**

Both girls immediately looked up- Freida with fear and Hermione with scorn. "To-Tom..." Freida stuttered as Hermione turned back to her newspaper and disparagingly turned a newspaper page. On the inside however, Hermione was on the verge of falling part. When she had looked up for a second- just a second- for an uncanny moment she had thought she had been looking at _Harry. _But that was impossible. He was dead, somewhere in the future. Why would he be _here? Sixty _years in the past?

Hermione continued clutching the Prophet, though a more observant person would've noticed the whitened knuckles relaying her distress.

Freida was shrinking back in her seat, from the tall, black-haired boy who had charmed many a girl in his time but struck a bolt of wariness in the more sceptical.

"Porter," he coolly said, inclining his head slightly. It was almost as if he was _mocking _her, but the lack of sneering on his part made her extremely confused. "Entertaining Rowenall here with some crass children rhymes, are we?"

Hermione coughed slightly and turned another page. For a moment, the boy's eyes flickered to her before returning to Freida.

"That's five points of Gryffindor, I'm afraid."

Freida made move to protest, but seemed to re-think her plan when Tom continued gazing at her, black eyes fixed. It was starting to make her feel extremely uncomfortable. Meanwhile Hermione had managed to calm her beating heart enough to glance at the date printed on the top of the Prophet. _September 1st, 1942._

Wait--so she wasn't in the 30's? So what had made her think she was in the 30's in the first place? The answer came in the form of Freida and her permed hair. Permed hair had been a huge hit in the 30's before making way for page-boy bobs and shoulder-length curls in the early 40's. She shouldn't have immediately assumed that because Freida's hair was permed that they were in the 30's. Assuming was bad. It lead to horrendous mistakes.

Hermione was going to continue her perusal of a particular interesting article, involving Grindewald and Hitler when it was rudely snatched from her hands.

"Hey!" Hermione protested, refusing to look up and meet the eyes of the boy whom so strangely looked like Harry. It would only tempt her to burst into tears. Freida took a sharp intake of breath, as if Hermione had just committed a major _no-no. _

_"_Glenda," he said rather coolly, that it almost sounded like an a_accusation. _"You're back." His eyes gleamed red for a split second. "And reading an illegal publication too. Tut tut tut. What on earth are we going to do with _you, _Miss Rowenall?"

Hermione still refused to look at him. Instead preferring to examine the school dress robes that had somehow magically replaced her torn t-shirt and ripped muggle jeans. There didn't seem to be a speck of blood on her either, but Hermione knew that most of the wounds will lay within, in the darkest of abysses. Freida promptly gave a terrified squeak.

_Honestly. _Hermione thought exasperatedly. _Trust me to get stuck with a Gryffindor scared of a pesky prefect whom uncannily looks like Harry Potter. _She raised her chin defiantly, but still kept her eyes lowered.

"_You're _going to do nothing. _You _are a prefect. As it clearly states in _The Legitimate way to being a Prefect, Hogwarts standard edition,_ _Page 53_, that although a prefect can give a detention to a pupil, he may not do so whilst outside of Hogwarts grounds. However in 1811, a law was passed that if a prefect notices a student misbehaving on locations related to Hogwarts, then it may be noted down until both parties reach Hogwarts. So as I said, for now--you can do nothing except confiscate a newspaper I don't need. In fact, you'll be doing me a favour."

Freida looked shell-shocked; Hermione couldn't even dare to add the finishing punch and meet his eyes in triumph. Instead she stared straight ahead at Freida and her panicked expression.

She could smell the tension thick in the air. But having faced more evil then this _prefect _could've shaked a stick at, this boy seemed almost venial (_forgivable)._

"Very well," he bit out, and for a brief moment Hermione had a flash of doubt. She didn't know what had happened to the real Glenda or why everyone thought her to be said person, but time-travelling to the past was risky business. If she even stepped a foot out of place...There could a major shift in the time continuum. But her regret was washed away when the prefect in a clipped manner continued. " I shall be taking this matter up with you again in Hogwarts where rules won't be able protect you from receiving punishments, Miss Rowenall_. _Enjoy your reprieve while it lasts."

And then the ominous warning was greeted with the door sliding quietly back into place. Freida was practically on the verge of collapsing on the seat. She stared open-mouthed at the Glenda Rowenall whom was very _different _from the one she saw at the end of fifth year. Glenda still looked the same, but her eyes....Her eyes were so _weary..._As if she'd been to the end of the world and back and now, not even _Tom Riddle _could faze her. Tom Riddle, the boy whom _everybody _went out of their way to please.

Hermione rose an eyebrow, irritably. "What?" she snapped.

Freida spluttered, her cornflower eyes wide in disbelief. "You just outwitted--"

"Yes?"

"To-Tom Riddle. What's wrong with you Glenda? Why are you getting mixed up the likes of him? Surely you remember what happened last time? You ended up in hospital with brain-damage! I'm surprised you're even _here- _You shouldn't have done that Glenda. Even though he wasn't the direct cause of you being hospitalized, I'm sure he was involved somehow! He had to be! Why-"

Hermione had already tuned Freida out by her second word. Riddle? Did she just say _Riddle?_

No...surely it couldn't be....Even though the time-frame was correct, it couldn't be!

Hermione closed her eyes as the enormity of the situation hit her between the eyes.

Merlin's beard. Things had got so terrifyingly simple but horrendous at the same time. Hermione didn't need to seek out young Lord Voldemort any longer....but the idea of sneaking up on him whilst he was holding a _wand _was enough to make her pray for a higher deity to step in.

**thanks to right or ryn. you were right. the year 1935 was never confirmed and tom riddle is very much a fellow sixth-year :)**

**reviews make me smile. smiling makes me write. writing means you get updates faster. fast updates means happy readers 8D**

**ps~ when hermione was lecturing tom (lol) on how to be a good prefect, she wasn't trying to be snobby. she was just pissed off (understandable) after having a crappy day and some arrogant _prefect _was all she could handle b4 she "snapped"**


	4. Chapter three

**chapter three**

Once Tom Riddle had exited the carriage, he allowed himself to twist the black ring around his finger agitatedly. The feral part of him screamed for him to slip inside, and kill the two girls sitting smugly inside--after all he had already committed three murders. What would two more do to hurt? But his plan was hurriedly discarded when the tea-lady came rattling past with her trolley.

He offered her a tight smile, which she responded to with gusto. It wasn't until she had passed him, did he let his mask slip. Women. They were so easy to decieve. One lingering look, a brushing of the hand and it wasn't long before they melted into a warm gooey puddle. Women were weak. But then the same could be said for men. For even allowing themselves to be seduced by such weak creatures like women.

Tom strode casually back to compartment F, making three pit-stops along the way. Once to confiscate a bag of Knoly-nuts, twice to reprimand first years into not having chanced into their uniform yet. By the time he reached his compartment, he had calmed down enough to open the door smoothly and greet his followers.

"Roldophus," he said quietly and watched as fear crossed the chubby boy's face. Avery, seated beside him, let out a breath of relief and collapsed happily into his seat. His worried expression changing into ease. "Avery," he snapped and watched with truimphance as the fear returned triplefold.

"Were you not responsible for placing the cruciatus curse on Glenda Rowenall?" The question sounded conversationally, and both Roldophus and Avery puffed out their chests in cockiness.

"Of course, my Lord," responded Avery, buffing his nails on his chest. "Did you not read the Prophet coverage? Didn't know who her mummy or daddy was, the last I saw of her."

Roldophus laughed out loud. Tom's eyes flickered to Roldophus before fixing scathingly upon Avery again. "Then perhaps you care to tell me why she is currently in compartment M, actually being able to string two words together, hmm?"

It was almost enlightening to see their faces morph into shock and horror as his words dosed their arrogance. Roldophus and Avery shared a horrified glance before hurrying to justify their worthiness.

"Sir, it was Roldophus whom actually delievered the curse. He is weak, my Lord. His curses are not strong enough-"

"Don't listen to _him, _my lord. He did not even _try _to give her pain once she was captured-"

"Enough!"

The command was forceful enough to stop Roldophus and Avery in their tracks. They blinked up at him with trepidation as he paced the carriage back and forth. Cutting a formidable figure, with his black robe swishing ethereally by his slim legs.

He paused for a moment, to glare down at the two imbeciles lucky enough to be called deatheaters. "You two will be punished in due course. I'd watch your every _breath _if I were you. It could be your last." Tom laughed mockingly before sending a quick stunner in their direction.

There was a page he had to check in _The Legitimate way to being a Prefect, _before the train disembarked. And for Glenda Rowenall's sake, the prefect rule had better be wrong.

* * *

By the time Roldophus had manged to come around, his master was sitting apposite him with an ashen-face, staring- no, _glaring- _at a book in front of him.

Avery was already stirring beside him when Tom looked up from his book grimly, his coal black eyes hooded. Catching a glimpse of the pair before him he snarled, making them both leap back in their seats, before getting up abruptly and hefting his suitcase from the storage rack.

The moment he stepped outside, Tom rearranged his ugly expression into one of polite disdain as a fourth year batted her eyelashes at him. He responded with a cruel smirk. Pushing past a huddle of second-years, one whom promptly fainted after seeing him, Tom searched over the heads of milling students for the familar shade of brown to catch his eye.

To his anger and frustration, he saw nothing. And promptly pushed a first-year over as she was reaching for her suitcase. Immediately she fell, and with the drama only a 11-year-old could possess began bawling her eyes out for a dribble of blood working it's way down her knee. Not knowing her assailant was a sixth year prefect, she looked beseechingly up at him as if silently asking him to bring her tormentor to justice.

Feeling cruel, and a bubble of mirth welling up in as he imagined placing himself under the cruciatus curse, he promptly turned on another first-year boy, and deducted sixty points. Tom firmly hoped the boy would end up in Gryffindor. Adding Porter's five points, the house would already be in the negatives before term even started.

The sorting ceremony did nothing to brighten his dampening mood, but there was a minor highlight when the boy he deducted points off was sorted into...."GRYFFINDOR!" The girl he pushed over, unfortunately was sorted into Slytherin and he watched in disgust as she attempted to gain some sympathy for her plight from the bloody baron. But then the tears she was spouting was clearly false, so maybe there was hope for the girl yet.

Not for the first time, he let his eyes wander to the Gryffindor table, and felt his hatred multiplying when he saw the empty seat by Porter. So Rowenall decided she could skip the opening feast, did she? By the time, dessert had arrived he couldn't stand the falsities any longer. Abruptly standing up, he ordered, "Bellatrix. Look after the first-years, will you? I need to go to the toilet."

Bellatrix definitely looked suspicious but did not question him as he strode out of The Great Hall, unstopped. Although he had the uncanny feeling the dotty Transfiguration teacher was following him with piercing eyes. Damn him. He was the only one yet to fall under his spell.

Tom took his time, making his way up the floors. Blasting doors open to classrooms with ease. The feast was yet to end for another hour and until then the entire castle would be empty to do what he pleased. And that involved tracking down one _irritating, _pesky little girl.

He felt powerful. Like he was hunting down prey, that had _no chance _of escaping. With every door he blasted open, and every bathroom he looked in, he could feel the anticipation growing stronger and stronger. At last he was on the fourth floor, facing the magnificent doors into Hogwarts Library itself. In the darkness, Tom could just make out the flickering of a lamp through the stained glass. He hadn't tried to mask his movements. He had wanted her to hear every last step. With amusement, he watched as the reflection of the lamp inside the library extinguish as if someone had hurriedly put out the flame.

"Bingo," he whispered, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk.

**thank-you norine. mwah mwah mwah. here's another speedy update. the rest of you? please fuel my passion and review :) need something to talk about? ok then. what did you think of voldy's excuse for getting out of dinner? lolz.**


	5. Chapter four

**chapter four**

The idea of entering The Great Hall and stuffing her face till kingdom come did not sit too well with Hermione. And it was with this excuse in mind, did she pretend to lean over and tie her shoelace.

"Glenda? Aren't you coming?"

Freida had stopped, whilst the other students behind her humphed in exasperation and shouldered past her. Hermione gritted her teeth, before rearranging her infuriated expression under her hair into one of forgetfulness.

She glanced up and gasped, "You go ahead. I'll catch you up."

For a second, it seemed like Freida was on the verge of staying behind but Hermione let out a sigh of relief when she shook her head and trundled into The Great Hall. Now it was only the matter of legging it up the stairs before anyone saw her.

The answer was simple- a disillusionment charm. Hermione slowly set off up the stairs, taking care to duck low when Peeves swooped through the hallway, intent on chucking dung bombs before the night was out. When she had reached the top, a prickling feeling had itched up her spine and when she turned around to look as to why-- her eyes had fallen upon Tom Riddle.

He was staring up the stairs, directly to the spot where she was standing. A thoughtful expression on his face. But then another sixth year with long black tresses distracted him--and the spell was broken.

The rest of her journey to Hogwarts Library was uneventful save for her encounter with Mr Norris's cat on the third floor. She had managed to duck into an open classroom just in time, before the feline prowled past, a can of fish held in her muzzle. Hermione placed her hand over her racing heart as she slowly put her plan into perspective. Hermione hadn't come back in time just to enjoy a heart banquet at the dinner table-- for one, it would feel wrong without Harry or Ron ripping up ribs of meat. Hell, she'd even take Malfoy shooting her filthy looks from the Slytherin table. Two, the idea of spending even more than a few hours in the Young Voldemort's time-frame was enough to make her throw a wobbly.

She had to get to the Library- and fast. With some research under her belt, and a quick _Avada _when she next saw him, Hermione almost felt optimistic.

* * *

Hermione was frazzled. With a quill tucked behind her ear and work spread dangerously over the table, on the point of teetering, Hermione felt ready to bang her head against it.

"Oh Lord," she whispered, "It's going to take me a_ month_ to brew this potion?"

When Hermione had brewed the fatal potion that would delve into the past, not once in a million years, did she come to believe that she'd need it. And now, according to the book before her, it would take a _month _to produce a potion to counteract the previous one. _So much for killing and making a quick getaway..._She thought bitterly.

Out of the corner of her eye, in the dim illumination of her lantern a wisp of brown caught her eye. With reflexes to match those of a quidditch player, she grabbed at The Daily Prophet dated two weeks ago and stared disbelievingly at the picture of herself, blinking docilely up at her.

At first glance, Hermione was dumbfounded but then she peered closer and started noting minor differences. The girl in the picture had slightly chubbier cheeks and a longer hairstyle. The picture was in black and white so Hermione couldn't determine her doppelganger's true eye colour. Hurriedly she flipped the page and started reading the article-

_Glenda Rowenall, a promising muggleborn student from Hogwarts, was brutally attacked in the early hours of yesterday morning. Having waved goodbye to her mother, the last sighting of her alive and well was riding a bike through Little Whinging. She was reported missing for sixteen hours before a muggle passer-by discovered her wrangled body in a ditch four miles north. Miss Rowenall, is currently going under intense treatment in St Mungo's, but her situation remains critical. Witnesses have reported to have seen a group of boys, not local to the town, shortly before the tragedy. If any of our readers have more information please contact-_

Hermione stopped reading and clasped her mouth. No wonder Freida had acted surprised when she saw her on the train. Hermione seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to a girl in The Prophet that people could be forgiven to think that Hermione _was _a recovered Glenda.

Something clicked insider her brain as she reached under her robes to draw out _Secrets of the Dark Arts. _She turned it to the appropriate page. Her scouring finger drew down the page until it found it's needed information and she tapped it twice. "I knew I read her name somewhere..." she whispered as images of reading the book before Ron emerged triumphant from the inner chamber entered her mind.

A sudden _bang _made Hermione freeze in her tracks. It almost sounded like a door banging. Hermione closed her eyes and prayed that the wind was the culprit. Another _bang _made Hermione jump in her seat as the sounds of heavy footsteps rounding the corner made her curse and hurriedly wet her thumb before pinching out the flame. In darkness, she fought her urge to breathe, hoping against hope that the intruder would just walk away.

No such luck. The footsteps started again, slow and concise. Hermione panicked and bolted up from her chair, summoning the table's contents into her satchel in one go. As the footsteps paused outside the doors, Hermione stumbled in haste towards the back of the Library, where students rarely ventured and blackness ruled even on the brightest of days.

The door creaked open ominously as she firmly pressed her backside against the stone wall. A muttered, "_Lumos," _gave her knowledge that the intruder was towards the front of her hiding-place. _Either he is very stupid or very confident..._she mused. _Revealing your position makes you good as dead---unless your confident that you will emerge victorious. _Hermione shivered.

" _Gl--ennd-- dahh.." _The mocking voice floated through the aisles of books. Hermione was in shock. The intruder was _searching _for her. Well, more specifically the girl who he thought _was _Glenda.

"_Come out, come out, whereevver you arreee..."_

Hermione rolled her eyes. This sounded like one of those badly edited B-movies that her mum used to watch. Instead she stayed put and tried to silently fasten her satchel's flap to the velcro. The intruder seemed to be taking his time. Starting from one end of the library to the other as he dragged his wand along the woodwork. He still seemed to be at the other end, and if she calculated the time in which he would reach her, by distance divided by speed, Hermione was sure he would not reach her for another ten minutes.

_Your under the disillusionment charm, _she told herself firmly. _He's still ten minutes away. There's a good chance you can be out of this place in two minutes if you make a quick dash to the exit._

If Hermione had known that _Tom Riddle_ was lying in wait, she would have reconsidered her plan-- but she didn't know.

And to her misfortune, he _was _lying in wait-- much like a posionous viper waiting to strike.

**Big hugs to Norine (can you PLS help me come up with a better excuse? Please?), N (ooh, a single letter! Sounds deadly...), Smiling Sam (alliteration, I like it!) and MissMusa (I've already replied lol :P)**

**Reviews will prevent this story disappearing :):) (Gawd, I feel evil doing this threatening business...but hey, it's the only thing that works!)**


	6. Chapter five

**chapter five**

In the end, the downfall to her master plan was a venetian vase. A state-of-the-art, centuries old relic. Having long ago given up on ever fastening her bag close, Hermione instead shouldered the offending item and began tip-toeing out of the bowels of the library.

With ten metres to go, Hermione lost it. In her rush, her satchel swung out wide and knocked into a unstable pillar, housing the ventian vase. The dull _thwack _was ominous and Hermione spun around, her eyes widening as the vase began to tether on the spot.

For a second, it seemed like it was going to right itself but almost comically, gravity got the better of it and Hermione stretched out blindly to catch it. She did it with little effort, breathing a sigh of relief when her arms encompassed the floral-patterned relic.

"Who's there?!"

Hermione cursed, hugging the case tight to her chest as she peered at the person surely to step into view. Her back was facing the exit, the cool breeze taunting her as the candles from the corridor outside flickered, and causing light to dance around in the otherwise darkened library.

The illuminated wand of the unknown person swung in her direction and Hermione panicked, causing the vase to slip through her fingers and crash to the ground.

Hermione cursed yet again, staring down at the shards of marble in despair. To top things off, it seemed like a few pieces had nicked her leg, causing blood to clot at the surface.

"Peeves, is that you?" The male voice sounded angry, almost as if bitterly disappointed that the name rolling of his lips was not of another. Clutching her shin, Hermione began hopping to the exit, nearly tripping over twice for her lack of balance.

* * *

_It was the damn ghost. _Tom almost felt like roaring his frustration but then frustration was an emotion and emotions Lord Voldemort did not do. Having abandoned his perusal of aisle 34, Tom slowly walked to site of the crash. He looked down at the destroyed pieces and thought of the fool whom would have to piece all of them together. Even with magic, it would be a severe task.

Tom grinned at the thought.

A dark blot against the polished floor, beside the broken artifact made him pause as he inspected it. _Blood, _he concluded, _and fresh. _A shot of adrenaline spiked up his veins as he realised a bleeding human was in the near vicinity. The perfect victim. The further he followed the trail, wand held in front of him, the more thick the blood stains came. It looked positively black under the wandlight, almost as if it were _mud._

_Mudblood. _Tom's nose flared slightly as he breathed deeply. The blood soon started turning into footprints, semi-formed at first but more and more opaque as he started running. Not flat-out but enough to catch-up with the bloody victim. The shoe-prints were size _six, _definitely female and one who was badly injured. Tom couldn't help the cruel smile forming on his pale lips.

The footprints seemed to end on the seventh floor, abruptly outside the Gryffindor portrait. He cursed, pacing back anfforth before returning to the footprints and realising that they had stopped four feet away from the entrance. Unless the girl had a four-feet gait, then that meant she was still _outside._

A sitting duck, so to speak.

* * *

By the time Hermione had reached the familiar Gryffindor tower she had collapsed just short of the entrance. Not feeling light-headed enough to pass out (thank god!) but still woozy enough to worry, Hermione set about to tending her wounds, cleaning them with a wand before tearing scraps of her skirt from the respectable knee-length hem to bandage them.

Having no clue what the Gyffindor password was, and not wanting to set the Fat Lady screaming into other portraits, she instead dug out her copy of Secret Arts and scowled down upon. She had come so _close _to being caught, by god-knows-who. Even the idea of sitting down and studying a textbook seemed another life, the idea of rebelling s_chool rules _still remained a tetchy subject.

"Oh god, oh god," she whispered banging her head slightly against the wall as the sounds of heavy footsteps rounded the corner and Tom Riddle came into view.

Fear clutched at her heart, despite knowing she was well-disguised to blend into the wall. Hermione knew he was here for a purposeful reason. The slytherin common room was down in the dungeons and Hermione had feeling there was more to than the case than simply being _lost. _So why was he here?

_Tracking, _her brain whispered. _But how?_The answer was immediate as she glanced down at the floor and with a panicked heart realised bloody footprints were leading to exactly were she was lying, just shy of the common room door.

"Evanesco!" she muttered, erasing the freshest footprint and managed to erase fifteen more by the time he had reached her side. For a few seconds, blood fuelled rage blinded her vision and she blinked back tears as the image of Harry's dead body engulfed by Hagrid's entered her mind. By the time she had managed to clear her vision, Tom had turned the fourth time to resume his pacing. Ironically he seemed set on studying the footprints, every once in a while sniffing as if trying to detect his prey by smell alone.

_Glenda's inside the common room, you evil bastard, _Hermione thought angrily, boring a hole into the side of his bowed head. If convincing him by her thoughts alone were not enough, Tom proved this when he stated, "I know you're out here, Rowenall. You think you're very clever, don't you? Trying to hide from me with a disillusionment charm. But you're not so clever. I _will _find you and I _will _finish you off. Don't let all that camaraderie on the train fool you."

All Hermione could think were two words. _Avada Kedavra. _Two simple words and her mission would be complete. He was hers for the taking. Although Voldemort scared the hell out of her, how could a sixteen-year-old compare? True this boy before her would _grow _into some_thing _feared and revered but if he never had the chance..

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Hermione bellowed and Hermione caught the expression of surprise on his features before he stepped smoothly aside. Tom quickly rearranged his features of one of scepticism.

"You think a simple spell will kill me?" he asked mockingly before pointing his wand and yelling, "Expelliarmus!" and her betraying wand flew in an arc away from her.

She was a sitting duck. The fear evident in her eyes but a harder, more steely defiance at the curve of her lips. In the distance, the loud singing of the Hogwarts song drifted through the corridors meaning only one thing- The beginning of term banquet was coming to an end.

**Thanks to:-**

**Squidly: of course I'll keep updating! ;) Wild horses won't be able to drag me away...**

**MissMusa: glad you liked it! & fanx for the review!**

**Anonymous reviewers:**

**Norine: good point...lol, ur scared? well tom is kinda scary, so fair play to you...**

**LX: Another plea to update! lol, this soon enuff for you??**


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